Regent of Macedonia
by Liregon
Summary: What happens after Alexander's death? The events as [mostly] seen through the eye of Cassander, one of the Diadochi, and later Regent of Macedonia. 2nd Chapter up. [warning: implied slash in later chapters & rating may go up]
1. Alexander's Death

Disclaimer: All these characters really lived at some point in time, and therefore nobody owns them but themselves. I only write about them for amusement, and because I happened to see the movie which was fantastic though Lotr is still tops.

This story from the point of view of Cassander, who was one of the Companions, and later regent of Macedonia. For most of the story except for the first chapter or so, we see the events happenings from his point of view. My apologies for any discrepancies occurred.

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– Regent of Macedonia –

**Chapter One:  
Alexander's Death**

The King was passing.

That fact was so obvious that even the blind would have known. There was some measure of silence in the King's chamber, as the Companions stood around his deathbed, eyes shining with hope of being named heir to Alexander's vast kingdom.

"Alexander! Name your heir!" were said in urgent whispers from the various men that the King considered his closest friends.

They watched as his eyes –one blue like the clear skies, and one black as twilight –flickered from each of their faces, as if trying to imprint their features into his mind. He saw greed upon their faces, their thoughts of ruling his kingdom, and of their tyranny. If he had ever wanted an heir, he would have chosen Hephaestion for it.

But alas! Hephaestion had passed sooner than called for, and now, he was following his dearest into the Underworld.

To him, the rest were unworthy of having his whole kingdom, and even as he watched them, his vision grew blurred, and the words were like far of muffled echoes that overwhelmed his ears.

_The heir...the heir to my kingdom...heir...my son..._

They watched as the King tried to utter the words, yet the words were stuck even as they went up his throat. He coughed, a weak feeble cough that belied the greatness of the ruler. Somehow in their hearts, they knew he would be unable to announce, or even just _whisper_ the name of the new heir. The poison had gotten to him faster than the doctor had pronounced.

They had wondered among themselves who had been so brave as to poison the King of Persia, of Macedonia, and of Greece. Suspicious looks were abound in the meeting, as neither trusted the other, and shifty eyes looked upon his rival in the quest to be the heir. It could be one of them, then again not. The suspects were an endless list of people, people that loved, yet loathed Alexander the Great.

It could be any of the old soldiers that wanted more of the gold, or even the women whom Alexander had spurned, it could even be Bagoas –pretty and innocent-looking as he may be –or even Roxane, as revenge for her husband's accusations of her poisoning of Hephaestion.

Or perhaps even Olympias, from her place in Macedonia where she awaited her beloved son.

The killer would never be found, but nobody did care. All they wanted now was the name of the heir, and then they would return to life as normal as possible. The babe that still rested in Roxane's womb was still unborn, and even if he were given the Kingship as a toddler, he would never have the power to govern till he came of age at twenty.

Though many knew that whoever became the Regent of Macedonia would do _anything_ in his power to prevent the boy from reaching that age.

They slowly watched in false anticipation as the King's eyes became transfixed on the Persian fan above him, his eyes following the motion of its swinging in their sockets, unaware of anything else. His body slowly relaxed, as if he was slipping off into another deep sleep, or perhaps hypnotized. They watched as his pupils dilated, until they knew that he could not see anything but a blurry swirl of colors.

Outside, a hawk called, and they knew that Thanatos had finally arrived.

Alexander took the ring off his hand, the one that Hephaestion had given to him that night so long ago when he had wedded to Roxane. _I will always be with you, _Hephaestion had told him, before they embraced each other passionately.

Hands trembling, he raised the ring to no one in particular, his eyes blank, yet looking into someplace distant. He saw the hawk come into the chamber, beak open in a silent call, its beautiful brown wings flapping magnificently. It had helped him fulfill his dreams, had been with him through all his battles, and now, had come to receive his soul. The hawk's brown eyes bored into his: a stare both unnerving, yet calming. Its talons were suddenly outstretched, aiming towards the ring for whom he held it for. It was coming

Nearernearernearerand his death was nigh.

_And I with you..._

His last shuddering breath was uttered, and he passed beyond the mortal world. His eyes were closed, and his face had the image of a man who had finally found his peace at last.

_He was on a grassy plain that stretched endlessly into every direction, the sky so blue and cloudless it was impossible. He looked at his hands. No longer were they calloused and weathered with years of gripping swords and horse reins. No, they were smooth, like a newborn's. The arrow wound on his breast was gone, and so were the other scars that marred his body. He was young, at twenty. _

_And free._

_A resounding neigh was heard in the distance, and a joyous shout. Bucephalas came into his view, and leading him, Hephaestion. A smile broke onto his face._

_He had finally found his bliss._

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The ring was left forgotten on the floor as they mourned Alexander's death.

The herald had alerted the rest of the army to the King's death, and they slowly filed in, one by one, with tears shining in their eyes. Trying their best not to break down, they kneeled one by one beside the King, and kissed his hand, bowing their foreheads to his warm palm. And left, to pack up for the journey home.

When the soldiers were done, a debate was going on as the Companions argued furiously over who had the right to the King's kingdom. All knew that had Hephaestion survived, there would be no argument as to whom had the right. But now, both men were dead, their souls in Thanatos's keeping for good. The King's body was still not yet cold, nor was it but ten minutes past his the hour of his death, but they were already arguing as to who had the right to his body, and his subsequent burial.

Roxane had entered the room, hands clasped to her chest as she slowly walked to the husband's deathbed, her tears running freely down her cheeks, oblivious to the argument raging around her like a storm whipping at the coast. She broke down when she reached him, and sobbed openly upon his chest, calling out to him in desperate hope that he was but slumbering, or perhaps in deep sleep.

"Why couldn't you have held on for four more months?" she managed to choke through her tears. "To behold your son, and your heir?"

But she knew, somewhere in her heart, it was not Alexander's fate to look upon their son.

Wiping her tears from her eyes, she sought to stand, and her hand touched the ring that lay cold upon the floor, its red jewel flashing like fire. She palmed it, and gazed upon it, the events of her wedding night coming to her. Hephaestion may be her rival in love for Alexander, but still, they were lovers long before she came, and she would not see the ring go to ruin. Hesitating for but a tenth of a second, she slipped the ring into her robe's inner pocket, close to her heart, and joined the debate.

"My son is the true Heir."

The debate paused as they turned to look at the new voice in the quarrel.

"Well yes, he is, my Queen. But until he comes of age, we need a regent to rule the kingdom in his stead."

Roxane stood there, face drawn and refusing to acknowledge the fact that Perdiccas had pointed out. She was still Queen in the Kingdom, but had a lower position compared to Alexander's mother. All she wanted was to secure the throne for her unborn son, in hopes that there would be not usurper.

"What say you? Milady?"

"What about his body then? Would you feed it to the crocodiles, or the snakes that plague the earth? Or perhaps let it rot? I lay claim upon his body, whether you yea or nay. I am his Queen, and therefore have the right too. Whosoever disagrees can try to kill me, if you dare."

She watched as some hands instinctively went for their sword hilts, and gripped it, before their owner regained control, and the hands relaxed.

"I say we draw lots as to who get what of Alexander's kingdom. And his body will remain in Babylon. Where he died."

There were some murmurs of consents, and some mutterings of discontent, yet in the end, all agreed with Ptolemy's suggestion.

"But we have run out of ink," someone protested.

"We shall use Alexander's blood then."

_Tbc...

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Notes:  
Bagoas –played by Francisco Bosch in the movie, he's the eunuch who first served the Persian King, and later Alexander.  
Thanatos –Greek god of Death.

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	2. Lands Divided

Disclaimer: All these characters really lived at some point in time, and therefore nobody owns them but themselves. I only write about them for amusement, and because I happened to see the movie which was fantastic though Lotr is still tops.

This chapter onwards is from the PoV of Cassander. My apologies for any discrepancies occurred, and I may not actually follow what really happened. You are welcome to flame me.

Oh, and sorry for taking so damned long. Forgive me, but I wanted to post yesterday and was being cruel.

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– Regent of Macedonia –

Chapter Two:  
Lands Divided

They turned to me upon hearing the sound of my voice, their faces curious and some openly hostile. It was amusing to see their reactions to my simple suggestion. Some of which looked ready to murder me with whatever weapons they had on hand. Ah, yes, the myth about the King's body being sacred. The various eunuchs and slaves that had been present quickly filed out of the chamber, already anticipating another quarrel. Roxane looked at me with an expression of disbelief, yet somehow I knew that she would perhaps be one of the few supporting me.

The silence was long, and very awkward. We stared at one another, and sometimes even _glared_ in anger, or perhaps nervousness covered with anger. And it took a while before the chilly silence was broken, though not fully.

"And why so?" shouted a demanding voice. Mutters of consent spread throughout as the cowards finally decided that they have found a 'leader'.

Without leaving the pillar on which I had leaned against for much of the quarrel as an observer, I turned to look at the speaker, suppressing a wave of disgust as I did so. Ah yes, who can it be but Craterus? He was always hanging onto the King's every single word, and following whatever he did. I often wondered why Alexander was not in the least bit irritated, or annoyed. He was annoying, perhaps it would be doing the empire a favour if he had been disposed of in battle, somehow. Anyway, he had been regarding me with a look of challenge, his eyes bright and his mouth turned into an ugly smirk, which I yearned to wipe of. It would soon be.

"Why?" I spoke, raising my voice. "Why should you use his blood? Don't you people even _bother_ to think why? This is his empire, is it not? Or am I much mistaken and living in a dream?" –looking around, I saw some nods, but others had a cautious look on their faces –"We are trying to split this empire up; either in force or in fairness. He spilled his blood to construct this empire, the blood that _we are going to use to split it up_!"

I paused, not knowing why I had shouted the last few words. Perhaps in fury, or perhaps in passion. Drawing a quick breath, I glanced around. Silence reigned in the dead King's chamber, and I had the attention of the small crowd assembled there. The servants were peering into the room from the door at the far end, careful not to be seen in the dim light. For once, they were listening to me, all of them. It was time for me to continue, and so I did.

"He is dead, it is obvious even to the blind. And he has chosen no heir to rule currently. His blood will take the place of his words, and enable him to have a hand in the outcome. In some sense, his spirit will determine how it all goes along." The nods were abundant now, as they (finally!) saw my impeccable reasoning, and agreed to it. Those who had once 'supported ' Craterus were agreeing too, and the poor lieutenant was probably feeling alone. Resisting the urge to smile triumphantly, I strode over to where Alexander lay. He was still in the same position as he had been half hour before, for no one had touched him. Without bothering to kneel down and honour his dead presence, I took his hand and it hung limply in my grip.

"See," I proclaimed, holding it as high up as possible. "His hand still feels warm. His spirit has not completely left his body, and the blood still flows slowly though his veins. It is warm, and not coagulated yet. Why not use it, while it will still help us? If our beloved King still lived he would have agreed with me."

With that, I ended my impromptu 'speech'. Deathly silence settled in the chamber for a while before the rest yelled _yea_. It was as merry as it could get, with the death of the King. The solemn faces of the commanders cheered up, knowing that they would have their piece of the pie very soon, and they would be able to return to their beloved homelands.

The events had happened soon after was nothing but a flurry of activity and the happy bustle of chaos. People went through and fro, some packing their belongings for the journey home, some making themselves helpful (or not) while various scribes and slaves scurried to find an inkbottle and quills. Funnily, it was in abundance not three days before the King died, and after his poisoning. Parchment could be found easily enough, for there were many crumpled ones around. A group of us were crowded around Alexander's body, wondering about the best way to get his blood without wasting too much of it. Since we were all warriors, and only imbued with the knowledge of actually _wasting_ blood, it was basically mind-boggling in the least.

That is, until one of us had the logic to call for the doctor.

I was hardly conscious of my being, and was basically floating around in a so-called trance. I helped when I could, to speed the process. And everyone was excited, or nervous. The blood was slowly dripping into the inkbottle someone had found near the slave quarters. I was certain that particular slave would be most appreciated for that help.

Who knew the Persian people could actually _write_?

The names of the various cities and countries that Alexander had conquered were written neatly onto the pieces of paper –all almost the same size –in his blood. The quill scratched furiously across the rough textured paper as the scribe was pressured into writing as quickly as he could, so that the drawing of lots would soon be over and done with. With everyone as victors no matter what happened.

The papers were carefully folded up, after the blood had dried in the baking sun. The scribe made sure that they were about the same size, not that most of us mattered. To get a territory of one's own would be good enough, and a kingly gift indeed, literally.

The Companions slowly took their turns at the lots, and I hung back, not wanting to seem overeager or some variation of it. The tension in the air was palatable, and I half thought that it would be possible to even cut it with my sword. The hidden fear that one would be left out to take the last scrap was soon abolished when someone –perhaps Ptolemy –decided to make everyone reach for one particular scrap at the same time. He made it sound so simple that I was laughing inwardly. To think that those meagre strips of paper held such wealth!

With fingers slicked with Alexander's blood for good luck, we reached for the papers as one, the blood staining each paper red. Chatter rose as each of the generals quickly unfolded his piece of paper, their hopeful looks turning into joy or sorrow. My hands shook as I held the paper, not knowing whether to open it or to throw it away as the rest conversed around me, asking in curious voices.

Perdiccas had become the Regent of the Empire. Whoever thought to put that in ought to be stoned to death. He, of all people? He was incompetent, a man who only cared for riches.

Well, now he had it.

And so the list of countries attained went on and on. In the East nothing had changed, the old rulers who were there before Alexander still reigned supreme, but in the West… Ptolemy received Egypt; Philotas took Cilicia; Peithon took Media; Menander got Lydia; Lysimachus had Thrace; Leonnatus received Hellespontine Phrygia. I shut of all the various names and places in my mind after that. Was I so unfortunate to be given but a small country in the middle of nowhere? The paper was still clenched in my fist, and I was reluctant to open it.

"Cassander," Eumenes called, and I looked at him. "What have you got?"

Trying not to cringe, I slowly unfolded it, and the name written there brought a smile to my face. Perhaps my fate was not as bad as I imagined after all. Grinning, I looked up at them, and their inquiring faces.

"Macedon."

_Tbc..._

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Note: I'm trying my best to follow what actually happened… but hey, this is fanfiction! I'm just focusing on Cassander and to hell with his father aka Antipater. 

Thanks for reading this.

Please Review!

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